


toying with fleeting nothingness

by rocoroloco (wafumayo)



Series: ShuAke Brainworms: Fate Edition [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fate/ Fusion, Biting, Blood, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:42:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25172560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wafumayo/pseuds/rocoroloco
Summary: Akechi jerks his thumb over his shoulder, towards the discarded magazine. “If you’re having a hard time with your little problem thanks to that shoddy model, I’ll help you out. I don’t like leaving my debts unpaid.”Selling body fluids to the Mages' Association is a low that Akira never thought he'd hit, but financial hardships have forced his hand. It's just his luck that Akechi is willing to lend his own hand to the cause.Spiritual sequel of "kiss me farewell, Judas." Fate AU.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: ShuAke Brainworms: Fate Edition [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1808545
Comments: 6
Kudos: 58





	toying with fleeting nothingness

**Author's Note:**

> Again with the "this was supposed to be a 2k-long crackfic about mages selling body fluids for money" and then it turned into something way more. This is my first explicit fic so I wanted to keep it relatively easy and vanilla, hence why it's just a blowjob, but if you look at the tags, you might note that it grew out of hand exponentially.
> 
> Thank you to Dani for the plot bunny and big thank you to Alba for helping me go over this and making it way better than it was at the beginning. <3

“Just one more week, please, Irima-san!”

Irima sighs, crossing her arms over her chest and looking down her nose at Akira. For an old woman who barely reaches up to Akira’s shoulders, she cuts a formidable figure, more or less because Akira’s seen her dry up an entire flooded unit with a fire spell alone and he knows she has no qualms about turning that magic onto him should he get on her last nerve. 

“You’ve been saying ‘one more week’ for over a month and now you owe me _two_ months’ worth of rent. You couldn’t even pay off your first month here, Kurusu-kun.”

Akira claps his hand together in front of his head and bows as low as he can. “Please!”

“Sakura-san really vouched for you, you know,” Irima continues, sounding so disappointed that Akira feels his heart sink. He’s never felt worse in his life.

After finally scraping together enough money to move out of Leblanc’s attic, he took Sojiro’s advice and found himself a modest studio apartment in the middle of Kichijoji. It’s a little bit out of his normal price range, admittedly, but Sojiro’s friends with the landlord, which helped him get a lower rent than usual. Unfortunately, due to unforeseen circumstances (an emergency vet visit to Morgana after Morgana had a bad allergic reaction to the new discount pet food Akira bought for him), he’s been so short of money that he can barely scrape together enough money to buy food other than bean sprouts and tofu, let alone pay his rent.

“One more week,” Irima says sternly, pointing her index finger and shoving it right in front of Akira’s nose. Akira feels himself go cross-eyed. “One more week, Kurusu Akira, and if I don’t see that rent money in my hand on Sunday? Well…”

Fire licks up her knuckle and dances threateningly on her manicured fingernail. Akira swallows, remembering the torturous heat of the miniature sun she had summoned back in that flooded unit.

“Understood,” he says, managing to keep his voice steady and his knees from knocking together.

“Good,” Irima-san smiles serenely. She lets herself out of Akira’s apartment and Akira heaves out a huge sigh, dropping down onto the floor on his ass, relief having taken the wind out of his sails. 

Morgana peeks his little head out from the bathroom. “Is she gone?”

“Yeah, she just left.”

“Good.” 

Now that Morgana’s out of the bathroom, Akira can see the fur on his back still floofed up from the scare he must have gotten from Irima’s thunderous knocking. He runs a soothing hand down his familiar’s warm body and thinks as hard as he can. He definitely isn’t moving all the way back to Leblanc (Sojiro doesn’t mind the extra pair of hands but the lack of a proper bathroom is more than a dealbreaker now that he’s used to having a unit bath). He also most certainly is not moving back to the Kurusu estate (his parents would welcome him back too but he can’t deal with them nagging at him constantly about his career choices, his life choices, etc. etc. _etc._ )

“What are you going to do?” Morgana asks, unknowingly echoing Akira’s own question to himself.

Akira scoots backward on the floor until he hits the wall and then thumps his head back against it, hoping it would knock an idea into his head. It gives him a bit of a headache instead.

“I’ll figure something out,” he says. “I always do, don’t I?”

* * *

Akira absolutely does figure it out, because he’s a genius. He does admit though, that it had been a very last minute solution.

It’s Saturday, the rent is due tomorrow, and he only has about two percent of the money he needs to convince Irima to spare his life. In his defense, he did have quite a few leads, but luck just wasn’t on his side.

It seemed that Akira isn’t the only one struggling to pay rent and make ends meet in Shibuya. The ever-reliable Lala had sent out a text into the freelancer group chat, advertising gigs and jobs that would’ve paid enough for Akira to pay off Irima while still having enough to buy himself dinner. However, by the time Akira got to Crossroads, his heart almost beating right out of his chest with how fast and hard he’d run, he was already too late. 

“Didn’t you check the group chat?” Lala asked, holding a cigarette delicately between two fingers and looking bored out of her mind. “No jobs left, hun.”

“Wh-what?” Akira managed to pant out, feeling like his body was about to shut down from how far he pushed it. He all but collapsed into the booth and took his phone out of his pocket.

> **Ann** [4:19 pm]: Lala-chan, thank you so much for the info, as always <3 I think I’ll take the extermination job, if it’s still available.
> 
> **Lala** [4:19 pm]: Extermination job goes to Ann-chan. The contact info for the client will be sent to you later today.
> 
> **Ann** [4:20 pm]: Yay! :D
> 
> **Yusuke** [4:32 pm]: If I may, that Okinawa job sounds fascinating. I have been looking to get into drawing more tropical landscapes and Okinawa sounds like it would be the perfect locale.
> 
> **Yusuke** [4:32 pm]: Not to mention it would give me a chance to look at shisa up close.
> 
> **Yusuke** [4:32 pm]: And chanpuru, I hear, is delectable.
> 
> **Ryuji** [4:33 pm]: Dude, do you even have enough money to go to Okinawa?
> 
> **Yusuke** [4:35 pm]: Desperate times call for desperate measures...I suppose I’ll have to sell some blood to the Mages’ Association again.
> 
> **Ryuji** [4:35 pm]: AGAIN?
> 
> **Lala** [4:36 pm]: If it helps, the plane ticket will be reimbursed. The client is wealthy and desperate. If you complete the job within the given timeframe, I’m sure the client will let you look at shisa and draw and eat chanpuru.
> 
> **Yusuke** [4:36 pm]: I would like to take the Okinawa job, then.
> 
> **Ryuji** [4:36 pm]: Then I want to take the job.
> 
> **Ryuji** [4:36 pm]: Yo, what?
> 
> **Yusuke** [4:37 pm]: That should be my line! You should have been able to glean from my messages that I am interested in the Okinawa job!
> 
> **Ryuji** [4:38 pm]: Man, I didn’t care until you started talking bout chanpuru. Now I want some.
> 
> **Lala** [4:40 pm]: This is a work chat, not a personal chat. Go argue in your own channel.
> 
> **Lala** [4:40 pm]: Okinawa job goes to Yusuke-kun. I’ll send you the client contact info later. One job left.
> 
> **Ryuji** [4:40 pm]: Aw man. 
> 
> **Takemi** [4:45 pm]: Lala-chan, you should have just contacted me directly. There’s only one spiritual doctor in town who’s qualified to take a curse reversal job.
> 
> **Lala** [4:46 pm]: There’s always the off chance that Haru-chan finished her spiritual doctor license. But Tae, are you interested? I thought you were busy with your paper.
> 
> **Takemi** [4:49 pm]: Seems an easy enough job.
> 
> **Lala** [4:50 pm]: Alright then. Tae, I’ll send you the contact details later.
> 
> **Lala** [4:51 pm]: No more jobs for today on my end.

Akira read through the backlog. Checked the time - 4:52 pm. If he had taken a train instead of running all the way from his apartment down to Shinjuku, he could have nabbed a job before Ann and Yusuke. Albeit, in Yusuke’s case, his poor friend is perpetually in direr straits than he so perhaps Yusuke deserves a nice R&R in Okinawa after a well-paying job.

“No more jobs?” Akira asked hoarsely. 

“No more jobs,” Lala confirmed, “though you could ask Ann-chan if she’s willing to share the labour and compensation.”

Akira grimaced. Ann’s method of going about extermination jobs usually involves a lot of fire and a lot of explosions - two things that Akira has no interest in seeing up close for a long time until he’s sure that he’s back in Irima’s good graces. He shook his head and Lala shrugged.

There was something about the chat log that stuck out to him though, and he asked, “Lala-chan, what does Yusuke mean about selling blood to the Mages’ Association?”

Lala took another long drag out of her cigarette. “Yusuke-kun’s been selling some of his saliva and blood to the Mages’ Association, since that boy keeps buying art supplies instead of food or saving some for his rent.” She shakes her head but with a weary fondness. “The Association buys a mage’s body fluids to do research and make artifacts and stuff like that. I’ve never sold to them, but I hear that semen sells for the most.”

Akira coughed even though he could breathe properly again. “S-semen?!” 

He didn’t want to imagine Yusuke jerking it out into a glass vial but that was suddenly all he could think about. He looked down at the ground, fiddling with his hair as he desperately willed himself to think of anything other than Yusuke.

Morgana. Balls. Morgana. Balls. Ice cream. Morgana. Morgana’s balls. 

Lala waved her hand as if she was also trying to dislodge the mental image of Yusuke. “He claims that he’s only sold saliva and blood. Said something about how he wasn’t going to debase himself just so he can feed himself.”

“Classic Yusuke,” Akira chuckled even as his mind raced at two hundred miles per hour. He got up to his feet, suddenly a lot lighter than before. “Thanks, Lala-chan. Keep me informed.”

Lala narrowed her eyes at Akira. “You’re not planning on doing anything silly, are you?”

Akira laughed. “Just who do you think I am?” He gave Lala his best roguish wink and sauntered confidently out the door. 

And now, sitting on his bed, holding a freshly bought magazine in his hand, he is ready. Ready to make some money and pay his rent and buy some fresh food for himself. Morgana had been shipped out to the Sakura residence, where he would no doubt be kept happy and fat by the combined efforts of Sojiro and Futaba.

Akira eagerly rips off the plastic packaging of the magazine, feeling like he’s thirteen years old again after having shoplifted from the convenience store after being egged on by his slightly older friends. This time though, he actually paid for his magazine. He’d picked one at the store that just _spoke_ to him - the brunette on the cover with a sly and confident smirk, her hands reaching up to cup her supple and modest breasts. There was something about that girl that just compelled him to reach for the magazine and buy it. He had no doubts that her spread would bring him to climax.

He dumps out a vial’s worth of lube into his hand and slicks up his dick, coating it until he can smoothly run his hand up the shaft with minimal friction. Holding his dick in his right hand and the empty vial in the other is distinctly unsexy, and having to flip pages with his right foot is also not ideal, but Akira’s best trait is his adaptability. He settles down and stared at the first page. The brunette model is laying on her back in the sand, looking up at the camera with a mischievous glint in her eye, her legs spread apart. Even on her back, her considerable bust lends itself to a cleavage that Akira’s eyes are immediately drawn to.

He tries to imagine what he would do with her. Perhaps she would encompass his dick with her breasts and lick sensually at the head before bearing down with her mouth. He strokes his dick in tandem with the image and though the warm pleasure soaks through his body and collects in his gut, it’s not enough. He imagines sinking inside of her warm body, settled between her legs with the feet locked together behind his back to keep him inside. He imagines that he would start slow and gentle, before rocking into her at a faster and faster pace. Tries to imagine what her voice would sound like as she orgasms and tightens around him, trying to milk his cum into her body.

He starts to stroke himself faster and faster in excitement, and bites his lip against the pleasure curling deliciously alongside the mind-numbing heat. He holds the vial closer to his slit, his gut tensing with apprehension as his body prepares to come, but he can’t. Nothing comes out and he lets out a soft groan. He’s so sensitive that even his hand on his cock is starting to border on pain, but the excruciating desperation to _come_ makes him start pumping again without even consciously thinking about it.

He fixates on the fantasy in his head, holding it in crystal clear focus. He imagines leaning forward when she cums to capture her lips against his, licking inside her mouth in a parody of what he was doing to her body with his dick. He imagines her hot mouth, the warm and wet slick of their tongues pressing against each other, the slide of his saliva down her throat and the taste of her when he sucks on her tongue. He remembers the way Akechi had shuddered, the way the warm and soft heat of Akechi’s mouth had been pressed against his while he pressed his tongue against Akechi’s, inexperienced and shy and - 

Akira bites back another louder groan and his dick twitches as if he’s about to come, but he doesn’t. He strokes his dick a few more times, flipping through the pages of the magazine for _something_ that’ll push him off the edge. He’s no longer even thinking about the money, his focus solely on finding release. The brunette posing tantalizingly against a brick wall...the brunette staring provocatively at the camera with a finger to her mouth...the brunette looking up at him out of breath and the front of his shirt open, a pulsing red circle on his bare chest sapping his magical energy…

“Hrgh,” Akira thumps his head against the bedframe and lets go of his dick in agonized frustration. The resounding smack of bone against wood is so loud that he swears he can hear it echoed from outside the bedroom. He’s so frustratingly _close_ but for some reason his climax eludes him. He’s never felt this way before. Granted, he hasn’t had time to masturbate in the weeks after the end of the Holy Grail War, when all his time was devoted to moving into his new apartment and trying to find work. One would figure that his lack of intimacy with his right hand would make this an easy fix, but it seems that Akira’s body has other plans for him.

He looks wearily at the magazine, where the brunette is playing beach volleyball with two other girls. There’s no longer any sexual appeal to the perky and fun picture, and Akira can only think _I hope she’s having a fun time_ when looking at her bright smile. It’s a disservice to her as a gravure model to say that she isn’t doing anything for her but when the memories of the times he spent with Akechi during the Holy Grail War have pushed him closer to climax than any of her photos, maybe it’s time to change gears a little?

Akira shakes his head even though he’s alone. _No_ , he thinks to himself like how one might berate a naughty dog. No, he will _not_ think of Akechi, because Akechi is his friend, and friends don’t use friends as jerk-off material. His heart beats fast in his chest from the arousal, and he can hear it pounding sound echoing in his ear as if it’s coming from around him. It’s like he’s ten minutes away from a heart attack. He closes his eyes and tries to count to ten. 

“Kurusu, I can’t believe you’re actually doing this.”

_I’m not, because you’re my friend, Akechi. One, two…_

Wait.

Akira opens his eyes and stares at the open bedroom door (didn’t he close that?) where Akechi, in all his sweater vest glory, is standing, his arms crossed. He’s looking down his nose at Akira, his judging gaze fixated on Akira’s hard wet cock, looking rather unsexily like how Irima had looked at Akira when she delivered her ultimatum. 

“A-Akechi?” Akira stammers. He drops the empty vial, kicks the magazine off the bed, and tries to stuff his stubborn erection back into pants to no avail. “What are you doing here? The door’s locked.”

“You think you’re the only person around here who can pick locks?” Akechi asks coolly, taking out what looks like a professional-grade lockpick and spinning it deftly with his gloved hand before shoving it back into his pants pocket. “Besides, I wasn’t being quiet about it. It’s not my problem that you were simply too worked up to hear anything other than your own moaning.”

So the worryingly loud noises he’d thought were his own heartbeat and the impact of his head on the bedframe were mostly likely caused by Akechi sneaking in? He isn’t sure whether to be mortified or relieved.

“Alright. What are you doing here, though?”

“Lala told me about your idiotic plan but I didn’t think you would actually go through with it.” Akechi walks over to where the magazine had fallen onto the ground and peers at it with a disgusted look on his face. “What do you need money for?”

Akira hesitates. Both Akira and Akechi come from similar backgrounds in that their families are well-established upper middle class (with Akechi’s lineage being even more prestigious than the Kurusu clan ever will be) and yet Akechi was able to make something of himself without relying on his family’s ties and influences. Akira can barely decide whether to eat cup noodles or instant yakisoba on a good day, whereas Akechi probably dines on the finest Ginza sushi with his own hard-earned freelancer money.

“I need money,” Akira says slowly, “because I need to buy a new gun.”

Akechi raises an eyebrow. “I saw your gun during the Holy Grail War. It was a nice piece. Did you break it?”

“Uh,” Akira’s eyes dart to the window before focusing back on Akechi. “Yeah. Yeah, Morgana smashed it.”

“Uh-huh,” Akechi says. “So it has nothing to do with your overdue rent? That nice lady who claims to be your landlord was all but demanding that I punch your head off for how irresponsible you’ve been.”

Akira freezes. Akechi’s always been good with strangers, especially older women who just love to dote on him. It’s no wonder that Akechi was able to sweettalk the truth from Irima. He would’ve paid her his last remaining life savings if it meant she would keep her mouth shut. Granted, it isn’t as if he’d known in advance that Akechi would be dropping by.

Akechi squints at him. “I hear you told Lala that you plan on selling semen to the Mages’ Association?”

Akira can feel all the heat travel to his face, which is a surprise, because his dick is still rock hard in his hand. He never realized how much blood is in his body. Maybe he should have just exsanguinated himself instead of this. “I didn’t say that! I just asked about how the Mages’ Association buys bodily fluids. I don’t know how Lala-chan jumped to conclusions about _what_ exactly I’m selling though.”

“You can’t say she jumped to conclusions when she’s right,” Akechi sighs.

Akira feels his heart start to beat faster as Akechi walks fully into the room, closing the door behind him with a _click_ that seems to echo throughout the small bedroom. He learns forward and peers down at Akira’s dick with unrestrained interest. Akira backs up further, pressing his entire back against his bedframe, trying to pull his shirt down to cover himself up if he can’t tuck himself back in. He feels like a rat being examined by a scientist with a sadistic streak as wide as the Shibuya Crossing.

“I don’t like that look on your face,” he says. “Why are you looking at my dick like that?”

Akechi hums but doesn’t answer him. Instead, he picks up the vial from the bed and comments, “Looks like you’re having a bit of a difficult time.”

As casual as can be, as if they’re talking about math equations rather than masturbation. Akira is about to retort when his words extinguish themselves from his brain at the sight of Akechi getting onto the bed and crawling closer to Akira, the vial clutched in his right hand and a determined look in his sharp gaze. 

“Take off your shoes,” Akira says stupidly.

Akechi gives him a mocking look. Without looking back, he kicks off his loafers and removes his gloves with his teeth. Akira swallows, suddenly nervous.

“You helped me during the Holy Grail War, when Shido placed the Andromeda Seal on me,” Akechi says, apropos of nothing, “and you helped me to excommunicate my father. I can live as a freelancer without worries thanks to you.” There’s no gratefulness in his tone, and the words are spat out. Akira wonders if Akechi has ever genuinely thanked a person in his life; he speaks as if the words are being yanked out of his mouth with pliers. “I owe you one for that, you know?”

“Uh-huh?”

Akechi jerks his thumb over his shoulder, towards the discarded magazine. “If you’re having a hard time with your little problem thanks to that shoddy model, I’ll help you out. I don’t like leaving my debts unpaid.”

He somehow manages to make his tone mocking and Akira is about to inform him of how Akechi really needs to brush up on his people skills if he intends to work as a freelancer rather than an executor, when a sudden dry warmth envelopes his dick. He hisses in pain at the sharp friction and bucks his hips, trying to thrust into Akechi’s hand while at the same time shying away from the stimulation.

“Akechi?!”

“Hmm,” Akechi says. “I thought you’re close. I imagined that just touching you would’ve made you come.”

Akira has no time to unpack that because Akechi starts pumping, his movement like a robot more than anything else. It’s methodical but one-note, the same rhythm throughout. There’s no twist of the wrist, no fondling of the balls of any kind. The sensation of another person’s dry hand on his dick, moving in a way unfamiliar from his own method, is a stimulation that has him groaning, moving his hips to try to pump erratically into Akechi’s hand. 

“Stop,” Akechi says sharply, and Akira’s movements stutter to a halt. Akechi’s hand twitches on his dick before he goes back to the same up-and-down movement. 

It’s arguably a fairly bad handjob, and Akira doubts that he’d ever be able to come at the monotonous pace and lack of any sort of technique. He looks at Akechi’s face, his brow furrowed in concentration and his russet eyes fixed on the angry purple-red of Akira’s erection. He’s seen the same intense look from Akechi in battle and it’s fitting, in a way, for Akechi to treat this as an extension of combat. He can feel even more blood pump towards his dick, feels his cock swell a little bit more at the excitement of thinking back to all the times he and Akechi clashed in the past.

The friction is getting too much, though, the lube that Akira had applied earlier having dried off long ago, and Akira kicks out lightly with his foot. “Stop for a second. It hurts,” he pants. 

Akechi miraculously does stop, but he doesn’t say anything. He stares at Akira in a somewhat detached way, as if his hand isn’t still curled around Akira’s dick, his skin sticky with Akira’s pre-cum.

Akira gestures toward the nightstand. “There’s hand cream over there.”

Without a word of acknowledgement, Akechi moves off the bed and snatches up the tube of hand cream, squeezing an obscene amount into the palm of his hand. The powdery aroma of rosewater fills the room as Akechi continues to rub and warm up the lotion on his own skin before he moves back onto the bed and in between Akira’s legs. 

“Your choice in hand cream is the same as a seventy-year old woman’s,” Akechi says before putting his hand back on Akira. The lotion helps to ease up on Akechi’s movements, as he starts to bear down with his fist. The pace quickens, as if Akechi is trying to milk out Akira’s cum, the slide of his hand on Akira’s dick smoother and faster with the lubrication of the hand lotion. 

He can feel the heat collecting in his gut, the pool of pleasurable warmth sending electricity jolting from his cock to the tips of his fingers. He throws his head back and lets himself loose, moaning. He can barely think of any words other than _faster_ and _coming_ , can barely even remember anything prior to Akechi entering the room. His world becomes focused in on the merciless stimulation, until Akira feels lightheaded, like he’s floating. 

“A-Akechi,” he manages, “I’m...gonna come.”

He feels the rim of the vial against the head as Akechi begins to pump even faster. Most likely at a whim rather than any semblance of technique, Akira feels Akechi caress his slit with his index finger and he jolts, arching up. He can hear Akechi snap at him to settle down again, but with each pass of his fist over the head of Akira’s dick, he feels Akechi repeat the movement. 

“Come on, Kurusu,” Akechi cajoles, “you’re almost there.”

The cold feeling of the vial jolts a realization into Akira and his mind sharpens back into awareness at the reminder that Akechi isn’t doing this out of sentimentality. Not really. What did he say? Something about thanks and debts. Something about Shido and magic. Akechi is someone who is fiercely private, someone who guards his personal space like a dog. He made it clear right from the start that he’s in it to show gratitude, in a sort of fucked up way. 

He can almost imagine the clinical way that Akechi would bottle up Akira’s cum, stoppering it with a cork and tossing it onto Akira’s chest before leaving. Maybe Akechi would say something about how Akira needs to sort out his finances better. Maybe Akechi wouldn’t say anything at all; he certainly seems the type to roll right over after sex and either drift off to sleep or stalk out the door. 

Akira’s never going to be able to have Akechi’s hands on him like this again, and now that he’s experiencing it, he doesn’t think he can go back to when Akechi was nothing more than an untouchable figure. Someone Akira could only watch from afar and imagine the feel of when alone. If Akechi is so willing to drop Akira every time Akira manages to get under his self-imposed shell, then Akira is willing to clutch at and hold onto him with all the desperation in his body. He intentionally tightens up his core, his toes curling at the pleasure of the upcoming climax, but he grits his teeth against the waves of smouldering heat, grounding himself as he bites his lip and using the pain to stabilize himself.

Akechi lets out a soft growl of frustration and Akira’s dick twitches at the sound, but he twists his torso as he closes his eyes to somehow help him in resisting the constant waves of warm heat. He can barely hear anything outside of the white fog of heat that encroaches in on his senses, his gasps and moans sounding simultaneously from far away and yet right close next to his ear.

“What are you holding on for?” Akechi snarls and Akira can’t help but snap to attention at the sound of his voice. “Just hurry up and come so we can get this over with.”

 _I don’t want to just get this over with,_ Akira wants to say, but he can barely manage to breathe, his words dying on his tongue. _I want you to want to touch me even after this. Not just because you feel obligated to, but because…_

Because?

But Akira’s thoughts melt away from him as Akechi takes it as a personal affront that Akira refuses to come into his hand. He hears Akechi spit and dimly feels an extra wetness slide past the head and down the shaft. Akechi’s movements turn harsher, the friction from the palm of Akechi’s hand lessened by the damp wetness that covered Akira’s cock. Pre-cum tinged with white weeps from the slit, his dick so wet that he wants to cover his ears with his hands so he doesn’t need to hear the squelching noise fill the room. 

He is infinitely grateful that Morgana isn’t home.

He reaches down to try and grab onto Akechi’s hand, managing to brush the bare skin. Akechi’s movements stop immediately and Akira can’t hold back the embarrassing whine that rises from his throat as his back arches. He’d been so close! He involuntarily kicks his legs with frustration, his body so sensitive from the unintentional denial of his release that it borders on pain. 

“Don’t touch me,” Akechi hisses, despite his own hand touching Akira somewhere very little people have ever even seen. The minute trembling in Akechi’s hand serves to keep Akira on the edge, even when Akechi isn’t actively pumping anymore, and he wonders if perhaps Akechi’s getting cold in the slightly drafty bedroom. Wonders if Akechi is feeling aroused at all by this, or if he’s treating this like a worker on a stud farm. Akechi uses his own foot to nudge at Akira’s, as if scolding him for his movement. “I didn’t give you permission.”

Between pants, his mind addled with pleasure, Akira says hoarsely, “I didn’t give you permission to touch me either.”

He doesn’t even need to open his eyes to see the smirk on Akechi’s face - the smug tone of his voice says it all. “I know you’ve wanted me to touch you since the Clock Tower. You would’ve given me the permission anyway.”

 _That’s not how permission works, Akechi_. Akira oh so desperately wants to snap at him for this. For taking away Akira’s chance to do this right. For approaching this as if their relationship can only be built on a give-and-take, transaction after transaction. For being so blatant about how he’d known the whole time that Akira’s been soft for him since the very beginning of their relationship as acquaintances and rivals, yet throwing it at him so callously, as a justification for this mess. 

Akechi didn’t even give him the opportunity to kiss him properly, that fateful night in Jazz Jin, in the way that Akira’s always felt that Akechi deserves. And now, with this, an act more explicit yet no less intimate than their shared kiss, Akechi didn’t even give him warning or time to prepare. 

_I wanted to do this right, you know._

Akira finally manages to calm his breathing after a miniature eternity and he opens his eyes to gaze at the ceiling, thinking about the inherent unfairness of it all. 

Taking his eyes off of Akechi is always a fatal mistake, and even in bed, Akira is forcefully reminded of how Akechi is essentially a wild animal in human skin when he feels a tight warm heat around his neglected dick.

He lets out a wordless shout and arches off the bed, accidentally thrusting into Akechi’s tight throat and he feels more than hears Akechi’s protesting groan, relishes in how Akechi clenches around him as he gags. Akechi reaches out and slams his fist into Akira’s thigh in retaliation, but it’s weak and harmless, about as strong as a kitty punch from Morgana. 

Akira’s entire dick could probably fit into Akechi’s mouth if the two of them set their mind to it, but at present, only half of it was actually inside Akechi. He can feel the slide of Akechi’s saliva down his hot shaft, as well as the plush softness of Akechi’s lips wrapped around the length. The way Akechi’s hand twitches on his thigh. The trembling heat of Akechi’s tongue as he slowly forces himself deeper before his gag reflex kicks in. 

He opens his eyes (when did he close them again?) and looks down at Akechi, and he almost comes right there with the way Akechi is glaring up at him through his sweaty bangs, his sanguineous eyes narrowed with what Akira parses as annoyance. From the angle, Akira can see his length feeding into Akechi’s smart mouth, and his eyes can’t help but focus on the glisten of his lips.

His fantasies involving Akechi’s mouth on his cock had always been sweet and gentle, that he would be carefully guiding him the whole time because he confirmed that night at Jazz Jin that Akechi doesn’t have any actual experience when it comes to physical intimacy. The reality, of course, is that Akechi is aggressive and testy, and he always has been, making up for his lack of technique with proud enthusiasm. Akechi braces himself, one hand on Akira’s thigh and the other still on the bed, and starts to move. His head bobs up and down in a slightly stuttering rhythm, and Akira sees the hand on his thigh clench into a tight fist. 

If Akira is being honest, Akechi’s blowjob objectively isn’t very good. He sinks down too slowly, his teeth digging into Akira’s flesh in a way too painful to be pleasurable, even by Akira’s mildly masochistic standards. His tongue remains static throughout and he bobs his head at a slow and almost torturous pace. From the sharp look of concentration in his eyes, Akira can tell that Akechi is being serious, rather than trying to stave off Akira’s orgasm. The earnest bobbing of his head as he tries to work Akira to orgasm heightens the pleasure even more, to the point that Akira feels like his head is about to explode from it all.

The quality of Akechi’s blowjob comes second to the concept of Akechi Goro, the most promising mage of their generation, willingly putting the so-called attic trash’s dick inside of his mouth. Looking at Akechi, usually so put together, kneeling between his legs, dishevelled from sweat, the total focus he has on trying to bring Akira to release is what sends him over the edge. Akira barely has time to push Akechi away, doesn’t even have the mental facilities to warn Akechi to move and grab the vial, before the most powerful orgasm he’s experienced in months hits him with the force of a truck. 

He lets out a deep moan, his chest vibrating with the force of it, and his hips snap up in a sharp motion, burying his cock to the hilt inside of Akechi’s mouth. He can’t resist reaching out with his hand and grabbing onto Akechi’s hair, pulling him down even further down on his length until he feels the tight warmth of Akechi’s lips around the base of his dick. There’s something about breaking Akechi’s unofficial rule of no touching adding to the heated pleasure, like he’s doing something rebellious and naughty. He can feel the vibrations in Akechi’s throat on his length as he yells out in protest, struggling to pull his head off of Akira’s cock but Akira holds fast. The deeper angle into Akechi’s throat forces drool to leak out from the sides of Akechi’s mouth and into the dark strands of Akira’s pubic hair. The sloppy sight, so uncharacteristic of Akechi, makes Akira moan in sheer arousal, feeling another hot spurt of cum shoot out from his slit.

Akechi lets out a strangled snarl and Akira feels a sharp stinging pain in his cock as Akechi bites down but the intense stimulation only drives the pleasure into a white-hot bolt that lances through his body. He doesn’t know if Akechi is swallowing of his own accord, or forced to by how deep Akira has shoved himself in the other mage. He writhes and convulses as his orgasm pulses through him, his legs involuntarily clenching and tightening around Akechi’s head as if to keep him there. He is only distantly aware of the high-pitched keen rising from his throat. 

It feels like an eternity before the tide ebbs away into something more manageable, the waves of it still lapping at his senses as he slowly relaxes. His body twitches as his muscles shake with the overstimulation of Akechi’s tight hot mouth around him.

He slumps back down, tilting his body sideways off the back of the bed so that he can rest on the mattress completely. He feels boneless from the intensity of the orgasm, and his mind feels muted with the aftershocks. He hears rather than feels Akechi push himself up off his cock and start coughing wetly. 

Akira takes a deep breath and holds it, centring his mind again, coming back to himself. His vision is blurry at the edges but he is able to push himself up into a sitting position and look at Akechi, whose red face is half-covered by his hand as he continues to cough. Thick pink strings of cum, blood, and saliva are dripping from behind Akechi’s mouth and onto the bed.

“Shit,” Akira says, “are you okay?” 

The blood is, frankly, alarming. He’d been rough at the end, but had he been so rough that he accidentally ripped out one of Akechi’s teeth? He tries to reach towards him to get him to move his mouth away from his face before a sharp pain makes him hiss and curl in on himself pathetically. A small cut, right near the base of his limp dick, is bleeding sluggishly onto the bed. A red stain is already forming but he can hardly worry about that right now. The pain he felt during the orgasm had been from Akechi biting down on him.

“You bit me,” he hisses in disbelief. “Just how sharp are your teeth? Are you sure you aren’t a vampire?”

Akechi is still catching his breath, panting as he seems to struggle with closing his jaw again. His hair is mussed up, out of its usual carefully groomed style, from when Akira had grabbed it, and there are tears at the corners of his eyes. He looks like a mess. 

Akira swallows discreetly, feeling a heat curl in his gut as he imagines this to be how Akechi would look after being fucked out in bed as well. His dick is too sore and weary to fill up, though, but he commits the look to memory for the future. 

But then he realizes. “Wait! My rent money!”

He grabs the abandoned vial and tries to hold it under Akechi’s chin but Akechi uses his free hand to shove it away. Akira watches helplessly as the vial flies out of his limp hand and shatters against the wall. He waits for Akechi to catch his breath, watchful and anxious in case he needs to prepare a healing spell if he somehow managed to suffocate Akechi with his semen. 

_The semen that was supposed to pay my rent and save my life from Irima’s wrath!_ The devil on Akira’s shoulder screams. _And he even took some of my blood!_ He ignores it.

Akechi finally takes one last breath and lets it out, wiping his swollen lips roughly with the back of his hand. He massages the sides of his jaw as he opens and closes his mouth several times as if to flex the overtaxed muscles, grimacing. His tongue flicks out and licks lightly over his upper lip several times in a row, as if he’s trying to wipe away a bad taste, and Akira can’t help but hyperfocus on the movements of the other’s tongue. 

Akechi viciously glares down at the white covering his skin and uses Akira’s bedsheets as a napkin. Finally, he says: “That was utter swill, Kurusu. Absolutely disgusting. I doubt the Mages’ Association would pay even a hundred yen for a bottle of that.”

The last vestiges of Akira’s worry melts away into annoyed anger. “Thanks,” he says sarcastically, “for that stellar review and for robbing me of my money.”

“It’s not technically robbery if I didn’t physically steal your money, you know.”

“You might as well have!” Akira throws himself back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t care if Akechi thinks he’s being overdramatic. “It’s a matter of life and death.”

He can hear Akechi stand up and start putting himself back together, the sounds of him putting on his loafers and fiddling with his clothes echoing slightly in the silence. He wonders again if Akechi is the type to just have sex with someone and then leave without saying anything. He certainly isn’t providing Akira with contrary evidence.

He jerks at the impact of a soft dry weight colliding with his chest and he looks down. Several wads of cash, wrapped together with what seems like butcher’s twine, have appeared out of nowhere. No, not out of nowhere, per se. Only one person could have thrown that and he sits up, the money falling down around him. 

“Wha-?”

Akechi stands before him at the foot of his bed, looking as imperious and unruffled as he’d been when he first entered the room. The only hint that Akechi had been doing anything more is in the swollen lips, the heavy blush on his face, and a slight slouch that sticks out like a sore thumb considering his usual ramrod posture. 

Akira changes a look down at Akechi’s pants, but before he can confirm the existence of a tent or not, Akechi remarks, “Consider my debts to you from the Holy Grail War paid, Kurusu. We’re even now.” He turns and starts to make his way towards the door.

“It’s not about debt, Akechi,” Akira says quickly, desperate to get it through Akechi’s stubborn head. “It shouldn’t be about debt. I -”

But Akechi isn’t even slowing down, deaf to Akira’s words. His gait is stilted and awkward despite the fact Akira never penetrated him, but before Akira could ask him about it, he’s gone.

In the distance, he can hear the faint clicks of the front door opening and closing. 

Akira huffs out an annoyed breath and makes a mental note to call Akechi out for his bad bedside manner later. Maybe ask Futaba to hack into Akechi’s phone to keep him on the line so he can have a real conversation with him about Things. He unties the money and starts counting. Counts again. Counts one more time to be absolutely sure. 

He can feel his eyes widen. There’s three months’ worth of rent in his hands. He immediately grabs at his phone on the bedside table, and types out a message to Irima with his shaky fingers: _I have the rent money, I’ll give it to you tonight._

Irima leaves him on read, but Akira doesn’t care. He tabs open the calendar app and makes a notification for four months later to the day: _Invite Akechi over._

**Author's Note:**

> My Twitter is [wafumayo](https://twitter.com/wafumayo)


End file.
